


where the dogs of society howl

by rainbowsedge (orphan_account)



Series: bottom zayn [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Actor Zayn Malik, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Sex, Doctor Harry Styles, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Happy ending don’t worry, Heavy Angst, Leukemia, M/M, Pets, Post-High School, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23220202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/rainbowsedge
Summary: “I would like to meet your biggest, meanest dog.” He said assertively to the girl at the front desk.“We have a new arrival, haven’t named her yet, but mostly because we can’t agree with her foster dad on the ones he’s suggested. He’s a tough cookie; probably will give you a hard time with all the questions.”“Oh? So she’s got a foster?” Zayn asked, his eye catching on a pitbull puppy hiding in the corner of his pen, head lowered sadly. “Aw.”Turns out Hollywood wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. Zayn’s therapist is making him adopt a dog to see if he can distract himself from being depressed about his high school sweetheart, who, eleven years ago, had to move due to being diagnosed with cancer. Haven’t heard from him since.NO LONGER UPDATING
Relationships: Zayn Malik/Harry Styles
Series: bottom zayn [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694068
Comments: 5
Kudos: 33





	where the dogs of society howl

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Sorry I’ve been gone so long, it’s just been hard to write on my phone because I currently have been going through an intense writer’s block. I will say that I did start on both of HA’s and IAOA’s chapters, so look out for those! 
> 
> I felt incredibly inspired by this poem. I read it constantly; it makes me cry, makes me smile, gives me hope. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy. I think perhaps the next chapter to this will be really quite short.

Amongst dogs are listeners and singers.

My big dog sang with me so purely,

puckering her ruffled lips into an O,

beginning with small, swallowing sounds

like Coltrane musing, then rising to power

and resonance, gulping air to continue—

her passion and sense of flawless form—

singing not with me, but for the art of dogs.

We joined in many fine songs—"Stardust,"

"Naima," "The Trout," "My Rosary," "Perdido."

She was a great master and died young,

leaving me with unrelieved grief,

her talents known to only a few.

Now I have a small dog who does not sing,

but listens with discernment, requiring

skill and spirit in my falsetto voice.

I sing her name and words of love

_andante, con brio, vivace, adagio._

Sometimes she is so moved she turns

to place a paw across her snout,

closes her eyes, sighing like a girl

I held and danced with years ago.

But I am a pretender to dog music.

The true strains rise only from

the rich, red chambers of a canine heart,

these melodies best when the moon is up,

listeners and singers together or

apart, beyond friendship and anger,

far from any human imposter—

ballads of long nights lifting

to starlight, songs of bones, turds,

conquests, hunts, smells, rankings,

things settled long before our birth.

-Paul Zimmer, ‘Dog Music’

Zayn was fifteen when he got placed into public school. He remembered almost every detail of that first day, walking down the block of his brand new home, the scent of cardboard boxes and the sound of newspaper still ringing through his senses. 

The mornings get so hot in California, so hot that a five minute walk to the new school had sweat dripping down his neck and back. His mom had bought him a new backpack, his dad had sent a birthday card. 

He remembered the very first thing he thought when he saw the high school, staring at its worn down, dirty blue-gray exterior with barbed wire lining the top of the fences.  _ It sort of looks like a prison.  _

No one told him where he was to go, just handed him a paper schedule and left him to wander through the giant hallways, getting pushed and shoved around to and fro. It took him almost an hour to realize he was on the wrong end of the campus, red in the face when a campus aid had to escort him to his very first class— Advanced Placement Calculus. 

Back at his private school, he had been with the same people since pre-school, the same campus, the same teachers, the same clean-cut friendly faces. Stepping into the classroom where the air-conditioning was on too high, the cracks in the walls poorly hidden by cheap school posters, and having to be the victim of a dozen eyes boring into his soul made him want to buckle up and sob. 

_ This is Zayn, _ the lady announced.  _ He’s from New York. He’s two years younger than all of you. He’s very smart. Be nice to him.  _

“You’re a little nerd, aren’t you?” Was the first thing the guy next to him said out loud, earning an aggressive ‘shush’ from the teacher. “I’m Niall. You should puff your shoulders up, or else your spine will bend by the time you’re forty.” 

“Stop trying to sound smart, Ni,” Another turned his body around and looked back at them, “We all know you just want new kid to do your homework for you.” 

Zayn gulped as he stared at the two seniors, eyes darting back and forth as they bantered and hit each other’s backs in an overtly masculine way. They wore sports jackets and were as buff as all hell, barely squeezing into the desk-chair situation as their thick legs hit against the table every time they moved. 

“I’m Lou,” The second jock offered his hand for Zayn to shake, both of them trying hard to ignore just how small his hand was compared to the older boy’s. “We’re the idiots of this class. If you help us, we’ll help you, alright?” 

Zayn remembers nodding silently, gulping before his mouth opened to say, “Alright.” 

About ten minutes later, another boy burst into the classroom, heavy panting noises being heard from behind the open door. Zayn jumped and craned his neck to see, but was unable to because of Niall’s broad shoulders. 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Vons,” The boy huffed, walking forwards to hand her a tardy slip as she gave him the side-eye and let him pass. “I’m really sorry.” 

“This is the second time this week, Harry.” She warned him as he clunked past all of the students to the farthest seat in the room, shedding his backpack and lunchbag loudly as he sat down. 

“That’s Harry Styles,” Louis whispered. “He quit the football team to join Theatre, so no one can take him seriously. Nothing against like, the gays, or whatever, but we value loyalty.” 

“What does him being gay have to do with anything?” Zayn whispered back, and Niall guffawed. 

“Well, sophomore, anyone who drops his chance on getting at Francesca Miller’s pussy on prom night and then joins Romeo and Juliet is a f—“ Niall was stopped by Louis physically covering his mouth. 

“Dude, that’s like, not cool,” Louis frowned, “He’s a fairy.” 

Niall smacked the back of his head, “This isn’t 1945, Lou. That’s like saying Red for Communist or MVT for Intermediate Value Theorem.” 

“It also isn’t the 1970’s, stupid idiot. Who even says that word nowadays,” Louis hissed, bonking their foreheads together like two juvenile bulls. “He’s gay, Zayn. He’s gay and he’s a loser and he’s the one who decided he was done with us, so.” 

Zayn didn’t quite understand the complexities of this school, but he nodded nevertheless, then proceeded to show them how to solve the problem on the board, fully knowing that both of them were intelligent enough to crack it themselves. 

By the time the class ended and everyone was getting ready to pack up, he shot a selfish look back at the boy sitting by himself, where he was stuffing his colorful pens and notebooks into his bag along with his calculator, which he had adorably painted Peppa Pig on the cover. 

He didn’t look like a loser, but those were thoughts for

someone who was meant to have opinions, and there was no way Zayn was going to try and be  _ that _ person. 

* * *

It was almost halfway through the year when Zayn attended his first school play. It was an adaptation of a book he’d never heard of and he had to secretly sneak behind Niall and Louis’ backs to watch it, sat at the farthest end of the corner with a black hoodie zipped up as high as it could. 

Harry was the main male lead, brown curly hair styled up and adorned with a handmade head-piece, reciting his lines with so much emotion and passion that Zayn was crying by the intermission. As he walked towards the bathroom, Harry passed by, getting praised as he went by multiple parents and other students, students who were kinder and had such genuine smiles on their faces. 

He and Zayn made eye contact at the door, gasping in surprise when Harry had snuck up behind him out of nowhere. The moment ended when Zayn’s body remembered how to back up, Harry mumbling a ‘sorry’ before rushing past him. He smelled like strawberries. 

Zayn doesn’t remember anything past that night other than standing up to applaud, getting overwhelmed with passion as all the actors took their final bows. He doesn’t necessarily remember slipping by all the people as everyone left, and the voice calling for him that sounded like his name. 

* * *

Harry’s too smart for his own good. He reads Wuthering Heights while scribbling his answers with his other hand, pretty hair swooped up into a bun behind his ears and utterly concentrated on absorbing all the information in front of him. 

“What’re you looking at?” Niall asked, looking at Zayn’s paper to compare their answers. “Shit, I got that wrong.” 

“You’re a dumbass,” Louis laughed at him, showing how he had gotten that problem right. “It was so easy my dog could’ve solved it.” 

Zayn kept his eyes fixed on Harry, entranced somewhat by the sunlight surrounding the boy like a halo of warmth and invitation. The second he pulled away, he became aware of the air-conditioning again, no music was playing in the background, and his friends were throwing paper at each other. 

So every fifteen minutes, he looked back. Just to feel warm again. 

* * *

“Why do you keep staring at me?” A voice made Zayn lurch forward, dropping the book he had been trying to pull out from a high shelf for the last three...embarrassing minutes. “Who even are you?” 

Zayn turned around. The warm, beautiful boy was shooting an icy glare and not letting up. “I’m sorry?” 

Harry crossed his arms. “I saw you at the play, and you keep staring at me during class. It’s really creepy and weird.” 

“I’m sorry,” Zayn affirmed, nervously looking down and wringing his hands. “I didn’t mean to act like such a creep.” 

“Okay, whatever,” Harry narrowed his eyes. “I know what you’re trying to do, though. You’re the new me—hanging out with those two dumb elephants just like I did and pulling mean jokes on innocent kids. You’re a terrible person.” 

“I’m sorry,” Zayn weakly repeated, his voice cracking. He didn’t bully anyone, but it felt cheap to try and defend himself, rendering him all but useless. “I—I promise to not look at you again.”

“Okay.” Harry curtly nodded and walked away, leaving Zayn to pick up the book that had fallen onto the floor. Wuthering— 

“Hey.” 

Harry stopped in his tracks, hesitating for a moment before turning around. “Yeah?” 

Zayn blinked, eyes fluttering quickly as he held the book in his arms like a baby. “I uh—I wanted to ask if you were busy Saturday night.” 

Harry frowned, “We don’t even know each other. I also just called you a terrible person. Isn’t that a little weird?” He stepped closer to Zayn, and the scent of strawberries and shampoo flooded his senses. 

“I need help with Calc,” Zayn blurted out nonsensically, biting the sides of his lips as Harry’s frown only deepened. “I thought anyone who could multitask the way you do would be a genius.”

“You don’t need help in Calc. If anything, I need help in Calc,” Harry scoffed. “If this is just another sick plan to invite me somewhere so that Ni and Lou can beat me up again—“ 

“What?” Zayn cut him off. “Sorry. No, it’s not that, god, no.” 

Harry went silent. “You’re bad at being like a terrible person.” 

“I know, I’m sorry,” Zayn rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t really do anything like this, but—I just really want to get to know you, if that’s alright.” 

Harry didn’t seem like he believed it, but he nodded anyways, “Meet me after school in the auditorium. Alone.” 

Zayn was going to retort, but Harry spun on his heels and began to sprint out of the library before he could even open his mouth again. 

He thought about it the entire day, the smell of Harry’s shampoo. It wasn’t anything special, but every time someone else who used the same one walked past him, his mind instantly went back to Harry and his beautiful curls, how he tied them up and let them get golden under the sun. 

The way the vein in his throat moved when he sang and how his front pieces would fall in his face as he concentrated on his schoolwork. Zayn wasn’t in love, but it sure felt like it. He spent lunch and the rest of 8th period skittering around everyone, apologizing with twice the amount of anxiety and sweating way too much when having to explain why he couldn’t hang with Ni and Lou. 

_ “...beat me up again?” _ That rang in his mind a few times too. Before he knew it, he was softly strolling towards the auditorium, opening the door with his bottom lip clenched in between his teeth. “Hello?” 

His voice echoed through the room, the loudest it’s been his entire life. “Hello?” 

“C’mere,” Harry’s head popped out from behind the red curtain, beckoning him forward. “You’re early.” 

“Oh,” Zayn squeaked, bounding up the stairs to meet Harry on stage. “I’ve never been up here before.” 

He snorted, “I can tell,” Harry was surrounded by papers and textbooks, long legs sprawled out as he scribbled something in a notebook. “Well, what’re you doing? Take out your stuff.” 

“O—oh,” Zayn plopped down, shakily taking out his school work as Harry warily watched him, gulping and opening his Calc textbook. “So...does this mean you’ll hang out with me tomorrow?” 

Harry shrugged, brushing his hair off to the side. When he lifted his arm, his sleeve fell down a bit, exposing his wrist littered with old scars and a bruise planted on the lowest side of his neck. “I never said I would.” 

“I know, but—“

“Why are you trying to get close to me?” Harry snapped, sending Zayn such an intense glare that he nearly froze into ice. “It’s freaking me out.” 

“Sorry. I think you’re interesting.” 

“You think I’m a freak. That’s why you get along with them,” Harry laughed sardonically. Zayn closed his mouth and looked down, unable to think of what to say next. “I don’t understand this concept. Teach it to me. And if you make one gay joke at me,” Harry pointed, but couldn’t say the rest of the words. 

“I would never,” Zayn swore, crossing his heart and shooting his pinky out. After a moment of bewilderment, Harry locked his own pinky with Zayn’s, sealing the promise like the universe was aligning the stars. “If I help you with this, you should help me with my monologue for Theatre.” 

Harry smelled like sunshine and expensive cologne. The kind that oozed daisies and strawberries; if sunflowers had a scent. Maybe a little bit of pine, but jury’s still out. 

“You’re in Theatre?” Harry raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Liar.” 

“I wish,” Zayn breathed out, “I couldn’t change my electives, so now I’m failing.” 

Harry shrugged, “You wanna be an actor?”

“God no,” Zayn began to solve the problem on Harry’s notebook with ease. “I want to become a doctor.” 

“Huh. You’re too pretty to be a doctor,” Harry said nonchalantly, causing Zayn to choke on air. “You’d make a great manic pixie dream boy.” 

“What’s a manic pixie dream boy?” Zayn slid the notebook back, smiling when Harry smiled. The latter stood up and snatched the monologue paper out of Zayn’s hands, looking at it. “So? What’d you think?” 

“Why’s it called ‘The Biggest, Meanest Dog?’” Harry chuckled, “I’ve never heard of this playwright before.” 

“Me neither, but then again,” Zayn stood up with a grunt, walking towards Harry until he stepped back. “Uh, we can’t choose. I chose that one out of a hat.” 

“Sounds like Mrs. G,” Harry scoffed, beginning to recite some of the lines, “ _ ‘And I told her, you’ll never be a good girl until you learn how to sit. She doesn’t realize how easy it is to sit and smile all pretty, because I have to go to college and become a man and be the one to bury her one day. Plus, it’ll be like a Christmas miracle. If she sits, she’ll be the most stunning gift I could’ve gotten in my entire life, and who ever gets that kind of power?’ _ This is really dumb,” Harry laughed. 

“I know,” Zayn bit his lip. “Will you help me?”

Harry handed it back to him. “Sure,” 

“You really think I’m too pretty to be a doctor?” Zayn’s body tensed when Harry came so close he could feel the warmth of his skin radiating on his arms. 

“Depends what kind of doctor. Transplant surgeon, definitely. Gynecologist, wayyy too much.” 

Zayn giggled at that, sticking his tongue in between his teeth then gave a sleepy and cute look. “I’ll become an oncologist as planned, then.” 

“An oncologist?” Harry’s tilted his head to the side. “You know, that sounds about right, you depressing little tart.” 

“ _ ‘Some part of me believes Sally’s the only one who’ll ever get it. The kind of frustration it takes to live a life so complicated you’d rather just not have one at all. People look at her the same way they do me, and ain’t that just the saddest thing.’ _ ” Zayn read out loud. “Honestly, guy’s got a point.” 

Harry threw his head back and laughed, showing off his hickey in full view, leading Zayn to believe that he was totally someone who had much more of a story to tell than just that ‘one gay kid.’

* * *

The day it happened was the day Zayn turned sixteen and Harry was about to turn seventeen. They had been lounging around Zayn’s attic for months now, fingering guitars and reading each other classic literature out loud, Zayn’s mom continuously thanking Harry for being such a good friend to her son. 

“Zaynie, I did really well on that exam last week,” Harry beamed, looking absolutely radiant under the glow of sunlight and its dust particles dancing around like confetti. “It’s all thanks to you.” 

“I passed Theatre,” Zayn leaned into Harry’s shoulder, tuning his guitar as he spoke. “That’s all thanks to you.” 

Harry hummed happily, pushing his hair back. He wore short sleeves now, his scars having mostly faded and the glimmer of his skin bouncing light and warmth all across the room. His face looked rosy, hair tucked underneath a bandana. 

It’s fair to say that Zayn’s in love with Harry. Especially when he’s thrumming a tune and the boy’s humming a harmony line to it, tapping his fingers on his thighs to the rhythm. “You should freestyle some lyrics.”

“I’m not that talented,” Harry sighed, laying down so that Zayn was forced to outstretch his legs, letting Harry rest his head on his thighs as he listened even closer to the music. “You’re so good at it, I was never able to learn. Mom always made me take piano.” 

Zayn stopped, reaching down to pull the bandana falling off of Harry’s head. “I wish I learned piano.” 

“We all wish for the things everyone else had, don’t we?” Harry smiled, nuzzling into Zayn’s hand. “I wish I was good at math, you wish you were good at English. I wish I was as pretty as you, and you wish you had my nerve.” 

Zayn laughed quietly, “True.” 

“I wrote you a poem,” Harry whispered after a while of Zayn idly running his fingers through his curls. “I could sing that, probably.” 

“You memorized it, Shakespeare?” Zayn giggled situating his guitar back onto his lap. “I’m just kidding. I bet it’s as smart as all the other ones.” 

“I’m thinking of starting a band, maybe. Me and some of the other Theatre kids,” Harry sing-songed, “And you can have front row seats to all my concerts when I make it big.” 

“Thought you was to be an actor,” Zayn slanged, heart fluttering when Harry began to sing in his lovely falsetto voice, the movement of his ribs expanding again and again around Zayn’s knees a bit too overwhelming to ignore. 

He could also feel his heartbeat picking up every time Zayn’s wrist aggressively shook with the pick, making the accompaniment more and more complex.

“A person can have a lot of dreams.” 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Zayn responded. “Haz?” 

“Yes, Zaynie?” 

Zayn jutted his lips to and fro in contemplation. “Where’re you thinking of going for college?” 

“Maybe NYU.” Harry leaned over and kissed Zayn’s knee. “Maybe a Cali state school. One or the other.” He looked up at Zayn dreamily, green eyes unrelenting in their pursuit to melt his heart. 

“Haz?” Zayn asked breathlessly. 

“What, stupid?”

“I think, I do want to be a doctor,” 

“Mhm, ‘cause it’s your dream,”

“Yeah, and,” Zayn set his instrument down and twirled Harry’s hair around his fingers. “I think you’re—I think you’re my dream too, you know?” 

They both froze once they realized what he had said, eyes widening second after second in utter shock. “I’m your  _ what?”  _

“Uh—nothing!” Zayn flushed, retreating away from Harry and backing into the wall, “Sorry, must’ve gotten my words mixed up, I—I meant—I meant—“

“Zaynie,” Harry started cautiously, “What do you mean I’m your dream?” He scooted closer to Zayn until the wafts of  _ sunflower _ and vanilla body wash were hitting him over and over again in torturous waves. 

“You’re my dream, Haz,” Zayn eventually made out, unable to look Harry in the eye. “And, and, and I’d like to kiss you, if that’s alright.” 

Harry’s breath hitched. “Me? Kiss me?” 

Zayn looked around the room and then nodded, “Wouldn’t want to kiss the ghost standing over there, don’t you think?”

“Oh, shut up,” Harry rolled his eyes and yanked Zayn closer to him, pressing their foreheads together. “You’re a real dumbass, you know that? A dumbass with dumbass friends and dumbass dreams.”

“Dumbasses live the longest,” Zayn said sheepishly, blushing so hard he felt his head would explode. “I’m having a party next weekend. I want you to come.” 

“Won’t all your friends be there?” Harry’s breath was tickling the tip of his nose. “I don’t wanna—sorry, but,” 

“It’s okay if you can’t,” Zayn reassured him, resting his hands awkwardly on Harry’s waist. “Ca—can we just kiss?” 

“Happy Birthday, then,” Harry whispered, tilting his head until their lips met upon leaning forward, noses pressed up against each other like two puzzle pieces always meant to meet. “You silly little boy.” 

“I’m not little nor am I a boy,” Zayn pouted, gasping when Harry pushed him down onto the floor. “I’m almost sixteen, almost your age.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry smiled, nuzzling his face. “In your dreams.” 

* * *

The next day at school, Harry told Zayn he’d try and make it for his party, even if Niall and Louis were going to be there. They met after school in the auditorium as they always did, but this time, Harry had Zayn on top of the prop cabinet, making out so fiercely not even a hurricane could’ve torn them apart. 

Then Niall and Louis wanted to take Zayn out to go smoking with the other boys at the reservoir with some of the cheerleaders, so Harry scrammed as fast as he could for the next few days. 

Then Harry didn’t show up for Calc. Then Harry didn’t show up in the auditorium. Then Harry didn’t show up for Zayn’s birthday party. 

Then Zayn learned the week after that Harry had been diagnosed with acute myelogenous leukemia a few weeks prior. He started coming to school with all his curls clipped off his head, chapped dry lips, and quit every single production that he had been telling Zayn about for months just how excited he was to audition for. 

He didn’t have much energy to sing, too dizzy read out loud, and way too weak to even make it up the attic stairs. Eventually, he had to leave school and move closer to his specialist. 

Zayn never got to see Harry graduate, lest even see him ever again. 

* * *

**_Eleven years later._ **

“Zayn, bud, what the hell?” 

A bell rang, snapping him out of his trance in less than an instant. “Uh…”

“Seriously, what’s going on with you?” The director placed his hands on his hips. “Okay, someone get him some water. We’re taking five.” 

“Zayn,” Niall threw his reusable water bottle at him. “What the fuck?” 

“Sorry, sorry,” Zayn apologized, “I don’t know what’s gotten into me today, I keep getting weird ass flashbacks every time I try to make myself cry.” 

Niall sighed and sat down next to him, “Maybe you’re trying too hard.” 

“You try being an emotional wreck on camera. Trust me, cry-fright is real,” Zayn killed the bottle before tossing it back to Niall. “And you’re a shitty manager, you know that?”

“You know, you don’t get to be an asshole to me every time you have a flashback about Harry,” Niall snapped, “I apologized for my actions. I changed my ways. Don’t fucking project your inability to move on from it onto me.” 

Zayn lowered his eyes, “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” Niall pinched the bridge of his nose. “Now go and make my 10% worthwhile.” He nodded his head towards the director beckoning Zayn back to the set. 

This was his seventh year as an actor after accidentally landing an audition when bombarded on the street about becoming a model. Harry had always said he was too pretty to become a doctor, and Zayn had been itching to disobey his parents for once in his life. Plus, it probably wouldn’t even land. 

Well, it did, and the movie he stumbled into became a major blockbuster. His dad stopped sending postcards, started yelling at him instead about how stupid he was for becoming an  _ artist _ , his mother silently downed another daquiri and placed it on his tab.

Judging by how he now had someone driving him everywhere and his home was always spotless, he thought he was doing pretty well. After being chastised by Niall, he was now crying over the corpse of his love interest surrounded by mud and trees, sobbing as he desperately pawed at her face and rocked back and forth like a hysterical monkey. Acting was mostly manipulation. 

“Okay, cut! That was good,” The director commented just as the girl propelled herself out of Zayn’s grasp, scrambling away to get the mud off her face. “Yeah, that was really good. I won’t make you do it again, stop looking at me like that,” He raised an eyebrow towards Zayn.

“Let’s get you in the shower,” Niall waltzed over, smiling at him. “Man, sometimes I forget just how good you are.” 

“I’m taking that as an insult.” 

As he washed up and let several women ruffle his hair dry and apply lotion to his arms, he could hear Niall chatting on the phone with his therapist about being a few minutes late, instantly making his stomach turn just at the thought of having to be vulnerable more than once today. 

“C’mon, girls, I think he’s as smooth as a baby’s butt now,” Niall laughed, pulling Zayn out of the pit of Victoria’s Secret regulars and walking him to the parking lot. “When you see your therapist today, try and make some progress, alright?” 

“You’re such an insensitive dick,” Zayn sighed, fondly letting Niall take out a tangle in his hair. “It doesn’t work like that.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Niall turned the car on. “But I like thinking that you trying too hard to not listen to me has reverse effects and you’re less depressed and unbearable tomorrow because of it.”

“You’re a fucking cunt.”

* * *

“You thought about Harry again, didn’t you?” 

“No,” Zayn lied, eye twitching. His therapist, Dr. Bowdoin, sighed and switched her legs in crossing. “Okay, maybe I did. But less than last time.” 

“You still haven’t told me why this Harry affects you so much, or why they’re so important to you,” She looked at him expectantly. Therapy was also mostly manipulation. “I know it’s only been a few sessions, but this person’s come up in every single one of them.”

“He was a guy I knew in high school.”

“High school?” She scribbled something down. 

Zayn gulped, “Yeah, high school. He was in one of my classes and my friends used to bully him before I got there.” 

“I see,” 

“He was gay, so...yeah. We used to tutor each other and then we became friends,” There was an awkward pause. “Then we just became really, really good friends.” 

She raised an eyebrow, “You were together?” 

Zayn shrugged, “I don’t know.” 

“Okay,” She said gently. “Why do you refer to him in the past tense? Did something happen?”

“Well, no,” Zayn frowned, “Or...maybe. Or—I don’t know. He was diagnosed with cancer and got really sick and then moved.”

Her face said it all. That same look of immediate understanding and pity strewn across her eyebrows and the pale canvas of her cheeks. Zayn saw that face all the time, the one where after revealing how his parents went through a nasty divorce, his eldest sister running away after saying she wasn’t their mom, his other sisters leaving for college just to never return, this best friend of his leaving without a word, and implicitly stating that he was closeted and gay his entire life. 

“I don’t need that from you,” Zayn murmured. 

“Need what?” 

“That face,” He looked away. “I see it all the time. I don’t need it.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Apologizing makes it worse,” Zayn shook his head. “Honestly, I heard therapy was better than downing five beers a night and having meaningless sex. But at least when I do those I don’t get apologized to.” 

“Listen,” She set her glasses down. “You need some stability in your life.” 

“I got Niall.”

“No, you’re Niall’s responsibility,” She corrected. “What are you responsible for? Your house? Bills? No,” She answered before he could say anything. “All you gotta do is show up when people tell you to, and that’s not enough.” 

“Okay,” Zayn said, rolling his wrist expectantly. “So, what would you have me do?”

“Have you ever had a pet? You should get a fish,” She suggested. “You look surprised.” 

“Last time you said you didn’t trust me with myself, and now you’re saying you trust me with another living being?” He drank his glass of water whilst giving her a suspicious look. “I had a dog.” 

“Great,” She threw her hands up. “Go volunteer at a dog shelter. Maybe adopt a dog if you can.” 

He didn’t answer her, but made sure to add getting her a gift to his to-do list. 

* * *

“I would like to meet your biggest, meanest dog.” He said assertively to the girl at the front desk. 

“Our biggest, meanest dog? Those two descriptors don’t always coincide.” 

“Well,” He blinked at her. “I’d like to meet your biggest, not-the-friendliest dog.” 

She laughed at him, bright brown eyes crinkling at the edges. In another lifetime, Zayn would’ve fallen in love with that. “Well, how scared are you of being bitten?” 

“Not too scared,” He lied, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Just as long as I don’t die.” 

“I’ll try and prevent that from happening,” She beckons him forward as she unlocks the gate, having him follow her down the hallway of screeching and yapping dogs. “We have a new arrival, haven’t named her yet, but mostly because we can’t agree with her foster dad on the ones he’s suggested.” 

“Oh? So she’s got a foster?” Zayn asked, his eye catching on a pitbull puppy hiding in the corner of his pen, head lowered sadly. “Aw.” 

“Yeah, that’s Eeyore. I think you can see why,” She sighed, unlocking another door and letting Zayn through first. “This is where we keep the meaner dogs, just as rehab. Most of them have fosters, but some of them have just been sent back too many times, so they get doggie therapy and have a personal trainer.” 

“Jeez, that’s luxury,” Zayn raised his eyebrows at a tiny, fluffy pomeranian grandma, who yipped at him with evil red eyes. “So where’s the gal whose name is to be determined?”

“Right here,” She opened a pen and snugly let both of them in, the door so heavy that it scraped across the floor and carried with it a strong wind. “Personally, I want to call her something suburban-mom, like Martha or Susan.” 

Zayn bent down and began to smile immediately at the mutt, who padded over to him to bump her nose against his face. “She’s mean?”

“Yeah, bit her last owner’s nose real hard. She’s lucky she didn’t get put down.” 

“Right, then,” Zayn stood up abruptly, the puppy sitting down on her butt and craning her head to look up at him. “Wow, she is one cute little baby.” 

“Mhm,” The girl chortled, “I’m Sally, by the way. I run this joint; saving rescue mutts seems to be all the rage nowadays, like, finally, am I right?”

“Y-yeah,” Zayn stuttered when the puppy began to lick at his shoes and paw at his leg, tilting her head from side to side. 

“She really likes you, doesn’t she? She’s usually only like that with her foster dad. That’s a good sign,” Sally bent down and rubbed behind the puppy’s ears, the both of them cooing when she closed her eyes and yawned. “If you end up wanting to adopt, you’ll have to go through him first. Honestly, he’s probably one of the big reasons as to why she don’t have any interests yet.” 

“Why doesn’t he just adopt her?”

“Says he can’t afford it, trying to pay off some debt. But I guess feeding her, watching her, and dropping her off here every single day is less expensive?” Sally shrugged and began to rub the puppy’s belly. “So, you gonna pet her or what? Or are you scared now that I’ve implicated your pretty nose?”

Zayn blushed, “I’m glad you think I have a pretty nose,”

“Aren’t you that actor from that movie that won Best Screenplay a few years back?” She asked as he bent down again and joined her in rubbing the pup’s tummy. “I don’t watch movies, but I always watch the Oscars, just so I know which movies are good in case I ever decide to watch a movie but I don’t.” 

“Yeah,” He giggled, “I think I know exactly which one you’re talking about.”

“Puppies are quite a handful,” Sally warned when the puppy began to gnaw at Zayn’s hand, wriggling around on the floor. “You have to bathe them often, they chew everything, they pee everywhere. Although this one’s potty trained, so maybe not that last one.” 

Zayn picked the puppy up and began to kiss her head. “She’s so sweet. She doesn’t look like she can hurt anybody.” 

“That’s her foster dad for you, gave her a lot of TLC when she was sent back to us for like the third time. She was abused by her mom’s owners, but, you know. Do you think you’d like to adopt?”

“Maybe,” Zayn grinned when she did. “I also want to check out Eeyore though, too.” 

* * *

“You’re going to adopt both?” Sally blinked at him. “ _ Both? _ ” 

“Yes, I believe that’s what I said,” Zayn laughed as he scratched the back of his head sheepishly, becoming a little afraid that his offer was going to get rejected. “Is that...okay?” 

“I mean, sure,” Sally sputtered, keys jingling as she unhooked them from her hip. “I know it’s been a few weeks, but still, that’s kind of amazing. I never thought someone would want to adopt either of those dogs, let alone both.” 

“They’re the sweetest little things ever,” Zayn smiled contentedly when he saw Eeyore sitting in his corner. “Eeyore,” 

The dog, upon hearing Zayn’s voice, perked up, large ears twitching upwards and his tongue immediately dropping from his mouth. As it lolled to the side, he padded towards the front of the gate, excitedly spinning and barking at Zayn when he pressed a hand to the fencing. 

“We’ll let him out first, and puppy number two is actually out back with her foster dad, so it works out really well. You can meet him, and I’m assuming he’ll ask some questions and make sure you’re the right fit. Although, I’m pretty sure you are,” Sally winked, making Zayn blush. Something about her could make anyone feel like they were the only person in the world. 

Zayn choked, “If I had known he was going to be here, I would’ve showered…” 

“That’s alright. I think you’re exactly his type anyways,” Sally said bluntly, and Zayn had to place a hand on the wall to support himself. “What?” 

“Uh—nothing, I mean, I mean—what?” Zayn brushed his hands off and continued to follow her, Eeyore on his heels. “Eeyore, come on,” He lifted him up into his arms and kissed his head repeatedly as they walked, journeying over to the back room where all the big, bad dogs were. 

The second the door opened and the strong wind blew in their faces, one stark and recognizable scent flew right into Zayn’s nose. 

_ Oh my god.  _

Apparently he had been standing still for so long that even the lazy and cuddly Eeyore wiggled out of his arms and dropped onto the floor, the noise shaking himself off just barely breaking Zayn’s trance. 

“Harry.” He said dumbly, unblinking and frozen. 

The person currently on the floor cuddling his second puppy was staring too, looking absolutely ridiculous in his puppy jumper and bright green pants, eyes settling onto Zayn’s. Mortified. He was mortified. 

“What?” Sally looked back and forth at them, “Ooh, you two know each other?” She winced dramatically before starting to laugh in between her teeth, much to Zayn’s

horror. She slinked back out behind him, “I’ll leave you two to catch up, I guess.” 

His panicked eyes followed her before a noise coming from the thing across the room reverberated through the air. Harry was standing up. 

_ Oh god.  _

Zayn instinctively stepped back, even though he had no clue as to why he felt like he needed to run. 

Harry was even taller than he remembered, but now instead of the thin and lanky boy that he fell in lo—knew, he was muscular and healthy looking. A flush to his cheeks and a shininess to his hair that Zayn had never seen before. 

“H—hi,” Harry said, and that was it. 

_ Oh.  _

Zayn turned around and ran out of the room, through all the bad dogs, the good dogs, startling the old dogs who liked to nap in the sunlight of the front windows, running out onto the sidewalk and jumping into his car half a block away without even pausing to breathe. 

It took a few moments of solitary regret for him to utterly start breaking down and slam his head on the steering wheel, causing an intense honking noise and scaring the little old lady trying to cross the street with her groceries. 

After profusely apologizing, he sat and breathed heavily to himself, left eye twitching and hands starting to shake. Before he could have a full blown panic attack, however, someone knocked on his window. 

“Hey,” It was Sally, holding a very dejected looking Eeyore. “You forgot your dog.” She handed him to Zayn, who stared at the puppy now sitting on his lap looking very upset with him. “The other one you’re gonna have to talk to Harry for, it’s kinda the rules.” 

“I—I can’t,” Zayn said immediately. “Uh, I mean, I mean—“

“Just talk to your therapist about it and come back later,” Sally rolled her eyes, pushing his shoulder a little bit. 

“How do you know I have a therapist?” 

She rolled her eyes again and waved. “You’ll need to sign more documents anyways. See you two later!” 

“Why are you like this?”

“I dunno, if I’m being honest,” Sally shrugged, smirking just a tad. “Probably has to do with being homeschooled.” 

“Your soul isn’t crushed,” Zayn said without thinking, and she nodded like he said something very profound. “Sorry, that was rude.” 

“Nah, it’s—it’s kind of true, actually. Watching  _ Mean Girls _ growing up always did feel like I was watching a horror movie. You went to public school?” She asked, coming back to his window and resting her arms on the edge of the open window. 

“I did,” Zayn nodded. “It was diabolical.” 

“I see you got a dog bed four sizes too large,” She commented, “A bag of kibble that isn’t the best quality; I can text you some better options later, and a couple of toys that are way too hard for his baby teeth. This looks about right.” Sally winked at both of them. Eeyore was already finding his little spot in Zayn’s nap to curl up and nap in. 

“Thank you, I think.” Zayn said with chapped lips and the insides of his cheeks cramping. 

“Come back for your other one, or swear to god—I will egg your house. I know where you live, mister.” Sally pointed at him and raised one eyebrow, and to be honest, it was such a beautiful thing to gaze upon. 

Zayn saluted her, shakily trying to smile after what just happened. “Aye aye, captain.” 

————————

“So Harry’s in LA? That’s, that’s big, isn’t it?” Dr. Bowdoin obviously did not see this coming. “How do you feel about it?” 

“I mean,” Zayn absentmindedly began to roll up the tissue she gave him at the start of the session between his palms. “I mean—I dunno.” 

“It’s perfectly fine not to know,” She said gently and unhelpfully. “How did it feel when you saw him?” 

“I wanted to run.”

**_Who Knows How Long Ago_ **

“I’m going to draw you,” Zayn asserts, looking back and forth from his sketchbook with eager eyes. “Sit still, you dummy.” 

Harry cocks his head to the side all cute, then laughs shyly while looking away. “Really, now, Mr. Oncologist?” 

Zayn nods very seriously with one of Harry’s art pencils clenched in between his teeth, furiously using the smudger to ease the harsh lines he’d just created of Harry’s mop of a head. “Sit still,” He mumbles again, concentrating. 

They were in the garden again, with Zayn’s mother overlooking their antics with a soft smile and a margarita twirling in her hand, sunhat flopping slightly in the cool breeze. The dachshund she’s been dog-sitting for the next door neighbor is basking in the sun at her feet, lazily showing off his pudgy tummy and a tongue flopped to the side. It is truly a vision. 

“Could you move over to the left, so that you’re in front of the roses? Mom’ll be so pleased,” Zayn smiles gleefully, a rosy blush rising behind his cheeks. 

Harry gives him a look before clicking his tongue and just barely complying, scooching over to his left a few paces before resting back on one lean hand, sighing gracefully and shaking his curls behind him. “You’re taking an awful long time.” 

“Roses are pretty because they take so long to draw,” Zayn snips back at him, looking more and more excited about the creation he’d penned onto Harry’s sketchbook, hoping that today could be one of those days where one realizes they’re much more than just a silly, one-dimensional person. 

It’s like, the first time in Zayn’s life where he wants the colors shimmering around Harry’s face and the specks of gold in his eyes to really  _ sing _ to him. 

“Thanks for the cupcakes the other day,” Harry tries to make time fly by making small conversation, trying not to show how awfully adorable it was to have such a cute boy fawn all over him. “I think it’s the first time in a while that my mom let me have sweets like that. I think it’s ‘cause she likes you so much.” He teases. 

“Your mom a health nut or something?” Zayn laughs, then his nostrils flare as he hurriedly tries to erase an ill mistake. 

Harry laughs softly and looks away again, this time past the back end of the house to the clouds and where the mountains lay. “Yeah, something like that.” 

“You’d be such a pretty girl,” Zayn says insensitively, but heck, it’s the 90’s and people are still allowed to be jackasses. 

“You saying I’m not pretty now?” Harry flicks Zayn’s forehead, rightfully deserved. 

“God, Harry, if I called you pretty now, then like, that in itself would be an insult—you know, ‘cause like, pretty isn’t—doesn’t cover it.” 

Harry’s face goes bright red just as Zayn smoothes over a final sharp line, turning the book around with pencil covered fingers and a smudge on his cheek. 

The former gasps as his eyes light up, gingerly taking the book back from Zayn’s hands to inspect the composition Zayn’d poured his entire afternoon into. “It’s really good. See! I told you—a natural talent.” He looks up, clearly heartwarmed. 

Zayn bites off another layer of his lips and Harry notices, god, Harry always notices. “Stop doing that, you’re gonna bleed again.” 

“People might think I got into a fight,” Zayn shrugs, and Harry rolls his eyes and leans forward to wipe some lip balm across with a thumb. “Hey, no one can be a tough guy with shiny lips.” 

“You couldn’t be a tough guy even if you tried, dumbass,” Harry tuts and he smells so good. “I like how you drew it so it looked like my face is surrounded by the sun.” 

“Ancient civilizations used to speculate that the sun was the center of everything,” Zayn says, just to see Harry blush again. When the mission lands, his heart leaps. 

“You gave me too much hair, though.” 

Zayn takes it back from him, frowning. “I did not. You have lots and lots of hair, I think that’s the first thing I think about when I think about you.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” Zayn scoffs, “And ‘cause like, it’s the prettiest lot of hair I’ve ever seen, dum—dumbass.” 

“Hey,” Harry knocks their foreheads together. “Only I’m allowed to call you dumbass, dumbass.” 

“Zayn?” 

“Hnngh? Hm?” Zayn shook his head and wet his lips, closing his jaw with the mortifying realization that he had blanked out long enough for his mouth to get completely dry. “Sorry?” 

“You kind of zoned out, there,” Dr. Bowdoin’s eyebrows were furrowed as she scribbled something in her notebook, her eyes never peeling from Zayn’s. That was never a good sign. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m okay,” He said assertively. “Yeah, I’m fine. I think I just got lost for a second there, been super tired with my schedule and all.” Since when did he get so good at lying? “This chair’s too comfortable, doc, you might have to switch to a rock or something.” 

“Oh, it’s fine,” She smiled, liking the change in his tone. “Perhaps we should end early today, so you can get some rest.” 

“That’d be great!” Zayn smiled back at her, one of his award-winning, heart-breaking smiles, and it felt like his organs were being crushed. As he left the clinic and got into his car, he sat and cried for a little bit. 

Then, he texted Sally to ask if she could ask Harry to come back tomorrow to meet about his prospective new pup. 

What a shitshow. What. A. Mistake. 

He woke up and realized that Niall was going to have to find out about this sooner or later, woke up with a splitting headache and a runny nose, then to top it all off, Eeyore planted a nice fat shit in the middle of his living room. 

He got to work disheveled and looking as though life was obsolete (which it was), the world as gray as his face, coffee trembling in his right hand. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, you look awful,” Niall choked when he saw him. “What happened to you?” 

“I don’t know,” Zayn moaned painfully, banging his head on the sides of the car door. “I want to die.” 

“Hey, none of that,” Niall shook his head, “People are gonna take you serious if you go around saying shit like that.” 

Zayn sighed, “Right.” 

They continued on with the day, until 4 o’clock happened and Zayn rushed over to the dog rescue, trying to force name ideas instead of that constant  _ Harry Harry Harry Harry HarryHarryHarryHarry Henri? HarryHarry _

“Myra,” He said out loud. “Oh god, that’s stupid. Chloe? No,” He ran a red light. 

“Monkey,” He tried, “Forest fire. Forest fire? What the fuck, Zayn.” 

_ “Your destination is on the right,”  _

“I fucking know, Siri,” Zayn yelled, harshly turning into the parking he’s become well aquainted with. “Oh god, I can’t do this. I can’t—I have to do this, what kind of man am I? I’m gonna walk in there and I’m going to get my goddamn dog, yes, no, oh my god, I’m going to die, I’m going to explode—“ He slammed his head onto the steering wheel. “God has to be dead.” 

He finally mustered up enough courage to fall out of his car, slamming the door shut and robotically marching to the entrance. Sally was already there at the front desk with an eyebrow raised. 

“Dude, I just saw you, like, scream and smash your head for like, ten minutes,” She snorted. “What, was it a bad breakup? Now you’re ten minutes late.” 

“No,” He rubbed at his head, “I’m right on time.” 

“Which is ten minutes late,” She rolled her eyes playfully. “Harry’s been here for thirty.” 

“He has?” Zayn got way too excited at that. 

“Yeah,” She nodded slowly. “Let me know how it goes, hot stuff.” 

“I’m really not hot,” He corrected when they got to the final entrance, “I’m quite cold, actually, like, y’know, frigid—oh my god,” She swung open the door without warning. Zayn wanted to run. 

Harry was inside, of course, gently scratching behind the puppy’s ear. As soon as he saw Zayn, he stood up abruptly and his jaw dropped the tiniest bit. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” Zayn said on autopilot, biting his lip when Sally slammed the door shut. “Hi.” 

“How—how are you?” Harry smiled at him, teeth so bright. “It’s been ages, hasn’t it?” 

Somehow, this wasn’t it. 

“That’s all you have to say? ‘It’s been ages?’” Zayn was dumbfounded. “I—Sorry, I can’t believe this—“ He shut his eyes and immediately smashed his face into his hands. 

He could hear Harry walking over. “I didn’t know how to contact you, especially after you made it big,” His smile turned soft, “Living opposite dreams, aren’t we?” 

“Huh?” Zayn stepped back when Harry stepped forward. 

“I’m an oncologist,” Harry snorted. “Specialization in blood disorders.” 

“Oh,” Zayn didn’t know what to say to that. 

All he could think about was how Harry still used the same body products as he did almost twelve years ago. 

“I’m really sorry, Zayn, if I’ve hurt you—“ 

“ _ If _ you’ve hurt me? God,” Zayn blew up, his shoulders so tense they were starting to ache. “You’re unbelievable, you know that, Harry?” 

Harry looked sad. “I’m sorry?” 

“You’re a—“ He was hyperventilating now, god. “You’re a terrible person! Ngh,” He sobbed into his hands, uncontrollably shaking. “You didn’t know how to contact me? It’s been, it’s been,” 

He suddenly remembered how long it had been. 

“ _ Eleven and a half years, _ Harry!” He gasped out, unable to even look at him. Before he knew it, warm arms were encasing him, a tall coat opening up to cover his back partially. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry affirmed slowly, softly, resting his chin on Zayn’s head just like he used to do. “I’m so sorry, Zaynie. I’m sorry. I messed up.” 

He couldn’t talk, waves after waves of hurt overcoming him. Harry continued, “But look at you now, huh? What a beautiful life you’re living,” 

Zayn pushed him away. “My life is not beautiful. You know what happened after you left? Lou’s mom lost her job and he had to quit baseball. Niall went to military school and never came back, and—and then, then, I started having to pick my mom off the floor and I had no one, _ I HAD NO ONE.”  _

Harry just stared at him, his expression unreadable. Zayn himself couldn’t even imagine what he looked like, probably disgusting and red and slobbery, the complete opposite of the Hollywood glamor he’s painted the mask up to be for so long. 

What was probably the worst thing about it was how he had just opened up to Harry faster and harder than he had since before Harry  _ left.  _

“I’m sorry, baby,” Harry finally broke down, unable to keep his cool. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. What I did—that wasn’t right, and I’m so sorry.” 

“I thought you were dead,” Zayn revealed. “I thought you had gone off and died.” 

Harry took the initiative to pull Zayn in again, because he was shaking terribly. “I’m sorry.” 

“You’re so terrible,” Zayn mumbled into his shirt, “And you smell so fucking good, I’m gonna die.” 

“No,” Harry’s voice was so smooth and gentle. “It was incredibly selfish of me; I—I have a lot more to explain than just that, but, I want you to know that I’ve thought about you practically every day since.” 

“Liar,” Zayn scoffed. 

“I would never lie, baby,” Harry sounded like he was crying. “I would run like a son of a bitch, though. I was scared, and I only thought that I must’ve made you sad, not  _ how _ sad I must’ve made you.” 

“No fucking shit.” 

“I think I just didn’t want you to watch me die.” 

“Shut up.” 

“I’m serious,” Harry chuckled. “It was getting bad, you know? And I felt so ugly and worthless, I just didn’t want you to…see that.” 

“You were never ugly,” Zayn squeezed him. 

“You always said my best feature was my hair,” 

“You were never ugly.” Zayn repeated. “And what a stupid reason to abandon me.” 

Harry nodded against Zayn’s head. “I lov—yeah. Yeah.” 

“This has to be a dream, right?” Zayn asked, suddenly releasing his death grip around Harry’s waist. “Her name’s Sally, for fuck’s sake.” 

“I know,” Harry laughed wetly, “I know.” 

“Just adopt this one, Harry,” Zayn said exasperatedly. “Why won’t you just take her home? Name her?” 

“I don’t think I’m the right fit,” Harry laughed at himself. “Holding you again feels right.” 

“Okay,” Zayn pulled back, and something felt cold. “Uh, I don’t think we should do this today.” 

“Oh, yeah, uh—“ Harry deflected. “You’re probably right.” 

“I’m a wreck,” Zayn laughed sardonically. “So um, maybe another day. When I can properly vouch for myself as a potential dog dad.” 

“Okay,” Harry nodded. 

“Nice seeing you again?” Zayn sounded unsure, but left the room before Harry could say anything back. His eyes were red and he was still shaking, but what was Harry going to do, yank his wrist back and squeeze him again? 

* * *

**_Eight Days Later_ **

“You know what you need?” 

“Shut the dick up,” Zayn growled and rubbed at his temples. “Or else I’ll shut it for you.” 

Niall ignored him, “To get laid. I’ll set you up on a blind date.” 

“Fuck no.” 

“You’ve been cursing an awful lot lately. I’m also going to get you some iron supplements, those eye-bags are ugly,” Niall typed something on his phone, “Oh, come on, man. I was just joking.” 

“I know, it’s just my resting face is a lethal glare today,” Zayn said with contempt. “If I have to film this muddy death scene one more time, I’m going to throw a water bottle at Taika’s head.” 

“Don’t,” Niall said plainly, despite the caliber of the threat. “His name is Liam, isn’t he good looking or whatever?” He turned his phone and Zayn gagged. 

“He looks like he’d name his kid something like  _ Jaguar _ or  _ Phoenix _ and pout at himself at the gym.” 

Niall choked, “He likes working out and has a son named Bear.” 

Zayn’s eyes narrowed. “Fuck you, Ni. That’s not funny.” 

“But I’ve met this guy, Zee, alright? He’s super chill, and into all that stupid artsy crap you’re into. He reads Virginia Woolf for fun.” 

“That’s so stupid, Ni,” Zayn shook his head. “Sorry, but no.” 

“Well, that’s a shame, considering I told him you’d meet him tomorrow night at a bar.” He winced, waiting for Zayn to hit him. 

“Okay, then.”

Niall opened his eyes, “What? So you’ll go?” 

Zayn shrugged. “Why not?”

“Are you okay? What was in your water this morning? Do you need Amy and I to come supervise, make sure that he doesn’t try anything?” Niall sputtered. 

“You’re the one who set me up with him, now you’re implying he might try something?” Zayn punched his arm. “What’s wrong with you?” 

Niall looked at him again. “Alright, alright. Have fun, I guess.” 

“Whatever,” Zayn rolled his eyes. 

Liam was nice enough. Really funny guy, and very charming. He bought Zayn lots of drinks and together they shared a pub burger (without those despicable caramelized onions, of course). The night went smoothly, until two people decided to walk in and absolutely plundered the shit out of it. 

“Oh my god,” Liam exclaimed before ducking his head. “That’s my ex.” 

Zayn turned around to see who he was referring to, then proceeded to down his shot and Liam’s. “Which one, the right or the left?” 

Behind him were Harry and Louis, if life altering surprises couldn’t get any worse than this. “The left.” 

“The ass, right? Oh thank god,” Zayn slurred, squinting to see if Louis’ baseball ass had gotten even fatter. “The other one’s mine—my something, I dunno. I know both of them.” 

“Really?” Liam squeaked. “Shit, they’re walking over here.” 

“Well, fuck me. I want another rum vodka,” Zayn ordered the bartender, who gave him a look as she was preparing it. “Fuck, make that two. You see that man? He’s a doctor,” 

“Wow,” Liam whispered excitedly, the both of them blatantly staring at the pair. “How accomplished!” 

“And I nearly lost my virginity to him. But then he got cancer and disappeared and let me think he was dead for almost twelve years. Not only that, he was the only person in my entire life thus far who I had a real human connection with—sorry, you’re lovely, but y’know—anyways, because my mother was a drunk and my father always knew that deep down, I was a dirty, dirty homo.”

“O—oh.” 

“Now look at him, waltzing back into my life, making my prescription stronger by the second. The bane of getting old and bitter, right? Wearing contacts?” Zayn then proceeded to pop his contacts out unhygienically and drop them on the table, taking out a tiny bottle of eyedrops from his pocket. 

Liam looked uncomfortable, “Uh, maybe you should stop the drinks here tonight.” 

“Maybe. What do you think they’re talking about?” Zayn asked, and it was practically like there was a raining cloud above his head. 

“It looks to me that they’re on a date of some sorts,” Liam observed sadly. 

“Oh, fuck that,” Zayn snorted loudly. The bartender smoothly swept the bar clear of all alcohol within Zayn’s reach. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” 

“Oh, it’s okay,” Liam laughed. “I know exactly how you feel. You know what always makes me feel better, though? This song,” He handed Zayn an airpod. “It’s super gay and 80’s, but that’s the good stuff, right?” 

They listened to the same ABBA song on repeat for what was probably at least twenty minutes before Louis finally turned his head to acknowledge the pair staring at them. 

“Shit! We’ve been made!” Zayn stage-whispered to Liam, who nearly fell off of his barstool. “Shit, shit, shit,” 

“Liam? Is that you, babe?” Louis called, “Hi Zaynie,” 

“Hi,” Zayn yelled across the room and Liam became a tomato. 

“You know what, babe? Let’s switch,” Louis suggested to Zayn, who drunkenly gave him a thumbs up and watched as his friend dragged his date away. The person who replaced him, of course, was not to be welcomed. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” Harry sighed, ordering a virgin drink. “Hello again.” 

“Fancy meeting you here, with Louis, of all people.” Zayn rolled his eyes. 

“Well, you know, it was a little more than a coincidence. Apparently you told Niall that you found me, and then proceeded to give him my number after you had initially asked Sally for it, and Niall proceeded to give it to Louis, who apologized just now.” Harry hummed, looking pleased. 

“Louis? Apologized?” Zayn burst out into laughter. “By the way, all of what you just said made no sense.” 

“I have a talent,” Harry shrugged. “But this—“ he referred to himself and Zayn. “That is a coincidence.” 

“Listen,” Zayn slurred, “I came here tonight to get laid, and Lou just stole my lay. So—I think I should just go home.” 

“Why don’t we catch up?” Harry sounded eager. “Reconnect, maybe?” 

Zayn shook his head, “I’ve an early day tomorrow. I should get home.” 

“Alright, I can call you an Uber,” Harry offered before watching Zayn trip over a stool and fall flat onto the floor. “Oh, fuck.” 

He picked him up, wincing. “That looked like hell,” He inspected Zayn’s face. “I’m gonna need to drive you home, don’t I?” 

Zayn shrugged absent-mindedly, “I can’t see anything.” 

“Well,” Harry propped him up in a real chair as the bartender rushed over. “You’re going to need stitches in that,”

“Stitches?” 

“You just cut your shoulder on some glass, Zee,” Harry shook his head. “C’mon, I’ll patch that up for you.” 

“I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with that,” 

“That’s fine, but I am going to need to take you to the Emergency Room, then.” Harry reasoned. 

“My date can take me,” Zayn pouted. 

“Your date left about twenty minutes ago.” 

“Twenty minutes? You’ve been talking to me for twenty minutes?” Zayn’s jaw dropped. “My head feels funny.” 

“Let me take you to my clinic, okay?” Harry asked, “You’re bleeding.” 

“Mm. Fine,” Zayn let Harry pick him up, and off they went in his strawberry scented car. He dozed off for a bit, and by the time he woke back up again, Harry was sticking an antiseptic needle in his shoulder with gloved hands and Zayn was lying on a table. “What the fuck?” 

“Stay still, it’ll only take a minute,” Harry ordered, tone firm. “Gosh, you of all people shouldn’t drink, Zaynie.” 

“Why, because my mom’s an alcoholic?” Zayn snapped. “So you knew that, huh?” 

Harry frowned, but swiftly continued with his stitches nonetheless. “That was insensitive. I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah,” Zayn looked away. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it.”

“And I’ve been thinking,” 

“Yes?” 

Zayn sighed, “I’ve been thinking I don’t want to see you again.” 

He got no response to that, and he was too inebriated to tell whether or not he regretted saying it. “I’m so sleepy.” 

“You can’t sleep here,” Harry’s voice quavered. 

“Why not?” 

“You should sleep in your own bed,” Harry’s hand motions somehow got even faster, if that were possible. “No beds here.” 

“Then take me to your house, dumbass,” Zayn’s words were nearly unintelligible. “Stupid.” 

Harry sighed, tying off the final knot. “Or I can take you to my house.” 

“No, Niall and Amy’s watching Eeeeeeeyore. Can’t see me with you.” 

God, if only he had thought twice about all these words. 

“Okay,” Harry helped him ease his shirt back on. “You can sleep over, I guess.” 

“Okay, nice talking, dumbass.” 

* * *

Harry woke up to the sound of Zayn sobbing. 

It’s a sound hard to describe. It didn’t evoke the feeling one would get if it were a baby, but it also didn’t evoke the feeling one would get if watching an actor cry on screen. A dark, sinking pit in the center of his stomach, threatening and painful. 

He had laid Zayn down on his bed while he took the loveseat on the other end of his bedroom, which was much more comfortable than he had remembered it ever being. When he heard the soft cries, however, all of a sudden his back began to ache and his neck went stiff. 

“Zayn?” He called out into the darkness. He didn’t get a response, so he sat up and trudged over, turning the bedside lamp on to see what was wrong. 

Zayn was just crying. He wasn’t awake, nor fully asleep, but had his face stuffed in one of Harry’s pillows and was curled up against its entirety. “Oh,”

Harry hummed lowly in concern before sitting down on the side of the bed and gingerly resting a hand on Zayn’s shoulder. “Zayn, wake up. Zayn.” 

He was starting to heave, so Harry pulled the pillow away and propped Zayn up with another one, eyebrows furrowed. “Baby, you have to wake up.” He didn’t know why he kept on calling him ‘baby,’ especially after being told that he never wanted to see him again. People are complicated. 

When Zayn finally woke, it was even worse. He started mumbling and sobbing, now with snot dripping down his face and those same little shakes of his body as though Harry had cornered him and was about to swoop down for the kill. “Oh no, oh no,” 

“What’s wrong?” Harry naively tried to ask, rubbing circles on Zayn’s back. 

“Oh no, no,” Zayn shook his head, “Wake up. Wake up, you’re so stupid, you fucking idiot, wake up,” 

“Zayn, you are awake,” Harry eventually climbed onto the bed to pull Zayn in his arms. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here. Please stop crying, it’s really, really upsetting,” 

“Fuck,” Zayn grabbed his head, “My head hurts, oh no,” 

“Oh, that’s probably from the six drinks you took yesterday,” Harry sighed, brushing the hair out from Zayn’s face. “Do you know where you are?” 

“This is your house, isn’t it?” 

“Do you remember what happened last night?” Harry asked again, trying to keep Zayn a bit calmer. It surprised him when Zayn reached up to caress Harry’s face, little gasps could be heard as he paced his way from his hair to his chin. “I brought you here because you wouldn’t tell me your address. I also made you change and brush your teeth, but that I don’t think you remember.” 

“Wow, you’re really here,” Zayn said, and it hurt a little bit. “That’s so weird.” 

“It is my house,” Harry joked half-heartedly before laying Zayn back down. “Think you can eat something?” 

“You’re going?” Zayn asked timidly when Harry stood up and began walking away. “I mean—that’s fine—yeah, bye.” 

“I’m just going downstairs,” Harry smiled at him. “Come down once you’re ready. We should talk, yeah?” 

Zayn just smiled back at him, but it looked like he was going to start crying again. 

Harry was flipping eggs by the time Zayn mustered up enough courage to shuffle down in Harry’s pajamas, standing at the entrance of the kitchen shyly. “Hi,” 

“Good morning,” Harry grinned. “Sit down.” 

“Thanks.” Zayn did, and took a second to marvel at his surroundings. “You have a beautiful home.” 

“I’m glad you like it,” Harry came forward with full plates, sitting down next to Zayn with a sigh. “I made you eggs and melted some cheese for you. Know yoi like it like that.”

Zayn’s heart was melting. “Thanks,” He bashfully picked up his fork and tried not to show Harry his slight smugness. 

“So, what have you been up to? Other than the movies and the fame and stuff. Tell me what happened.” 

“I went to college,” Zayn shrugged. “Moved out here, bought a house, then a few.”

“Do you still draw?” Harry tapped his fingers on the side of his water glass, looking genuinely intrigued. When Zayn shook his head no, he seemed genuinely sad. 

“Is that a guitar?” Zayn asked, “Wow, that one looks legit.” 

“Yeah, I uh, took it up after I recovered and my mom eased up on all my restrictions. Her letting go almost made me a pastry chef.” 

Zayn giggled, “I could totally see you as a pastry chef.”

“I never thought you’d do it,” said Harry. “Thought you were much too shy to become an actor, but here we are.” 

“Oncologist never had a chance,” Zayn’s eggs were perfect and he was becoming more and more smug. “Why did you choose oncologist, by the way?” 

“Well,” Harry contemplated. “Back then, I got a bone marrow transplant and made a full recovery, it was seriously a miracle. Felt right to choose it, you know? Life got so hectic right after I got better that I just got swept up in everything.” 

“Really? My life got slower,” Zayn smiled softly. “Days got even longer. It was both a blessing and a curse.” 

“You know, Zaynie, I…” 

“Yeah?” Zayn cleared his plate and looked up at Harry, and for the first time, looked right into his eyes. The latter choked back something and shook his head as a ‘nevermind,’ prompting Zayn to pout just a little. “You know I hate it when people do that.” 

“It was really embarrassing, and I’m grown, so I don’t wanna say it,” Harry’s cheeks were flaming. 

“You know, Hazza, I loved you.” 

He looked up to see Zayn making fierce and deliberate eye contact. “I loved you more than anyone in the entire world. Actually, you  _ were _ my world.” 

Harry’s chest tightened and all his muscles started aching. “I loved you too, so much.” 

Zayn clearly didn’t know what to say to that, so he gulped and looked around, spotting his jacket hung on the coat rack and sprinting over to it. “Niall must’ve called me.” 

“I can’t believe you still keep in touch with Niall,” Harry chuckled, bottom lip in between his teeth. 

“You’re telling me? If someone had told me he was gonna be my manager, I would’ve laughed in their face,” Zayn hummed. “Oh, he did text me.” 

“Do you...have to go? I think you said something yesterday about having an early day.” Harry gave him a look that screamed that he really didn’t want Zayn to go. 

“I don’t have to be anywhere,” Zayn shut his phone off and awkwardly came back to the table. “So...are you seeing anyone?” 

Harry spat out his water, “Pardon?” 

“This is a pretty big house for just one person,” Zayn observed, and Harry was going to bash his own head in. “So, you aren’t?” 

“That’s correct, I’m not. Are...are you?” Harry clenched his jaw. 

“No,” Zayn was smug again, more so when Harry’s face relaxed. “So...cool.” 

“Did you have a bad dream this morning?” Harry changed the subject and Zayn breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Kind of, it’s complicated,” He replied, chuckling. “I’ve been having dreams where I can’t tell reality for the greater part of ten years.” 

Harry felt awful and it showed, “You, you looked at me and started crying.” 

Zayn went pink, “Well, sometimes dreams can be mean about it.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize when you already have, silly.” Zayn bit his lip. “Well, I should get back to Eeyore,” 

“Yeah, uh, I should go pick Banana up,” Harry stood up when Zayn did. 

He smiled, “Banana’s a nice name.” 

“Thanks, thought really hard about that one,” Harry snorted. 

Once Zayn changed, brushed his teeth with the toothbrush Harry gave him (some part of him really hoped he’d keep it), and got ready to call his Uber, they stood at the doorway of Harry’s magnificent and rich and warm house. 

“Let’s practice saying goodbye,” Zayn snarkily remarked, and Harry guffawed. “Goodbye, Haz. Thank you for rescuing me last night.” 

“Of course, Zaynie,” Harry smiled and pulled him in, anxiously leaning down to… 

“Oh, don’t kiss me,” Zayn squeaked, “Sorry, sorry, I get freaked out without explicit warning, uh, I’ll see you around.” He stood up on his tiptoes and pecked a very flustered Harry’s cheek. 

“Uh, Zaynie!” 

“Yeah?” Zayn stopped just as he opened the car door. 

“What’re you doing Saturday night?” Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets. He felt like a teenager again, asking stupid shit like he just did. 

Zayn’s eyes fluttered, “I don’t think I’m doing anything. Might be wrong though. Why do you ask?” 

“I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me, since we aren’t seeing anyone and all,” Harry was sweating at eight in the morning. 

“I’ll think about it,” Zayn said, some part of him feeling deeply pleased. 

* * *

The date went swimmingly. Harry was charming and funny, Zayn was bashful and profound. They both ate way too much garlic bread to not warrant getting a bit shy about being close, but they held hands and walked around the local park together, and bought a pack of gum from the pharmacy. 

The next week after that, Harry took Zayn to all the art museums he’d never been to. Zayn made Harry cupcakes again, realized that their palates for sugar were totally changed now that they were older. 

Harry taught Zayn how to play the piano. Zayn finally got to bring the second puppy home, where sometimes, Harry would come over and together they would watch as her and Eeyore wrestled on the living room carpet. 

At one point Zayn said, “My life was beautiful. I lied.” 

Harry responded with something like, “I wouldn’t even be able to imagine how beautiful it was.” 

The afternoons suddenly became very long, with brunch eaten at expensive cafes that smelled too strongly of sour coffee and burning. At one point Harry asked Zayn what his dreams were, again. 

“What do you mean?” Zayn gave him a puzzled look. “I thought we already established that we switched them, and now we’re in the process of living them out, no?” 

“Yeah,” Harry smiled softly, then ruffled Zayn’s hair. “I guess so.” 

“You  _ guess _ so? What does that mean?” 

Harry shook his head and just sniffed Zayn’s hair. “Nothin’.” 

“Ugh, you’re annoying,” Zayn pouted and snuggled closer, the melody of a fantastic action movie playing in the background. “What should we do tomorrow?” 

“Let’s just do this again.” 

“Okay.” 

* * *

**_Later_ **

“I have had the immense misfortune of falling in love with you,” 

“Oh my god, don’t say that,” Louis admonished, looking utterly horrified. “What are you trying to do, scare him away?” 

Zayn twiddled his thumbs, “I don’t know what to say to him.” 

“Say something cheesy like, it’s fate or some dumb shit like that.” Louis shrugged. “Because it is, you know. Also, you running into him at that bar was not a coincidence. Niall and I set it all up, like little vixens.” 

“I figured that out about a month ago,” Zayn rolled his eyes. “It came to me in an epiphany. I don’t know whether I hate or love you for it.” 

“You do realize how dramatic you’re being, right? Millions of people would kill to be in your shoes.” 

“Would they really? I’m kind of damaged and rough around the edges, no?” Zayn reasoned, “Do I really want to officially be with the guy that kind of broke me in the first place?” 

“Okay, buddy,” Louis slammed a hand on his shoulder. “He didn’t break you. You just broke. Those two things are different, yeah? You were breaking before he left, and once he did, it just made it worse. It’s okay, to like, be vulnerable, y’know? Take chances?”

“I just love him a lot, Lou,” Zayn shut his eyes. “And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it. I still haven’t kissed him, for fuck’s sakes.”

“Then maybe you should kiss him, idiot,” Louis deadpanned. 

“It’s…maybe,” Zayn sighed. “I dunno. I guess I’m scared.” 

“Then it’s just too bad you’re in love with him, isn’t it? Because dude, there is no way you’re gonna stop,” Louis ruffled Zayn’s hair. People really liked doing that. “So just tell him. And be happy.” 

“It’s not that simple,” Zayn sighed again, dejected. “I’m not what he needs. He’s so different now. He doesn’t want the whole shy act I’ve been pulling for years, he wants someone who can sing and cook really good and is a proper grown up, you know?” 

“You can sing,” Louis pointed out. “You made him cupcakes and those were fine. You pay your bills; stop selling yourself short, Mr. Oscar Winner.” 

Zayn still looked unsure. 

Louis forced him to go to Harry’s house later that day, as a surprise. However, when Harry swung open the door to the sight of Zayn holding a plate of cupcakes and a sheepish smile on his face, all he got back was an intense glare and a subtle eye roll. 

“Hi,” Zayn’s eyes fluttered from the surprise of it, watching as Harry turned around without a word and trudged back into the house. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Harry reassured, but it didn’t feel genuine at all. “Uh, would you like some tea?” 

“Tea?” Zayn scrunched up his nose, “We’ve been hanging out for the last few months and we’re at tea?”

“Well,” Harry snapped, “Sorry for being such a disappointment all the time, alright?” 

Zayn was absolutely dumbfounded. “Uh, I’m—no, I’m sorry, Haz,” 

Harry didn’t respond, just groggily forced the fridge door open to pull out the milk. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m making some tea to eat with your cupcakes, alright?” 

“Jesus, okay,” Zayn didn’t mean to sound offended by any means, but it was a little startling. “Are you okay?” 

“You already asked me that,” Harry leaned against his counter and pushed his messy hair back, “I’m fine. I need a smoke.”

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Zayn’s mouth was dry. 

“I don’t, but,” Harry’s voice trailed off as he shook his head. “You wouldn’t get it.” This was practically snarled as he looked away from Zayn, crossing his arms. 

That hurt. “Okay, well, I have uh, meetings to get to, and you look really tired, I just wanted to drop by and...so, yeah.” Zayn turned around on his heels and began to wave behind him as he headed towards the door, sincerely surprised when a hand grabbed his wrist and stopped him just before he left the threshold. 

“Wait,” Harry pleaded softly. “Don’t go; I’m sorry.” 

“Will you tell me what’s going on with you?” Zayn asked, almost naively, as though he couldn’t decipher who the man in front of him was. “Haz, please tell me what’s wrong.” 

Harry stared at him in silence until he finally sighed and let go of Zayn’s hand, “One of my patients passed away yesterday.” 

Zayn didn’t know what else to do but follow him back into the house. “I’m so sorry,” 

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not okay, but,” Harry shrugged, “God, I actually feel awful.” 

“I can’t imagine you’d feel tremendous,” Zayn comfortingly pulled forward until Harry was in his arms. “Would you care to tell me about it?” 

“I, uh, she was sixteen,” Harry hummed, “Top ten in her class, mouthed off to me every time I came in, was excited to,” 

“Excited to…?” Zayn looked up at him warmly. 

“Go to prom,” Harry choked, “Yeah, had a boy she wanted to take and everything.” 

“I’m sorry, it sounds like you must’ve loved her a lot,” Zayn said confidently, brushing Harry’s hair for him. 

“I had a lot in common with her, I guess you could say,” Harry leaned down to bump their foreheads together. “Thank you. For staying.” 

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.” 

Harry smiled, “You used to say that you me so often, it was honestly a shock no one could tell just how gay you were.” 

“I swear, none of the idiots had an inkling,” Zayn laughed, “What was her name?”

“Gert,” Harry smiled saying it. “Can’t lie about that, huh,” They both giggled. “She was so smart, always talked about how she was going to take all the advanced placement exams the second she was better enough.” 

“She sounded lovely,” Zayn bit his lip, “I’m sorry again, Haz.” 

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have cut you off like that about you not understanding, that was rude,” They began to sway.” 

“It’s alright,” Zayn hugged him closer. “I completely understand.” They stayed like that for a little while longer, just until Harry finally felt better after stuffing his nose behind Zayn’s ear, right where he usually rubs his cologne. 

“Zaynie, I think I wanna kiss you. That okay?” 

“Well, Haz, I think that’s perfectly fine,” He smiled, then leaned forward just as Harry did. It was just as magical as he imagined it to be, yet not the same as it was when they were young and so blatantly naive. Harry’s lips were soft and his hands felt even bigger on his waist, cheeks softly brushing against each other. 

“Haz, I love you,” 

“I love you too,” Harry whispered back, holding their foreheads together. “I’ve always loved you.” 

“Took the words right outta my mouth,” Zayn clasped the sides of his face, “Even made you cupcakes just for you to steal my thunder.” 

“I’ve always loved you,” Harry repeated, like he needed to bring it home. “Thank you for the cupcakes, and the sunshine you’ve brought into my life.” 

“You cheese ball,” Zayn hit his shoulder lightly, then suddenly, he was being whisked into the bedroom. “What will you do?” 

“Getting my mouth on every inch of your body seems like the best place to start,” Harry moaned against his neck, walking him backwards. “Sound good?” 

Zayn whimpered, “Yeah, sounds good, that’s—fuck, that’s perfect, babe, whatever you want.” 

“Get on the bed, baby,” Harry pressed their fronts together before lowly fluttering his lashes against Zayn’s cheek. “Make yourself comfortable.” 

“Take your clothes off,” Zayn breathed, feeling light headed. “C’mon, Doctor Sexy.”

“Oh god, never call me that again,” Harry ripped his shirt off and his pants before ripping Zayn’s off with his teeth, a hand each taking Zayn’s socks off and crawling up the bed together in a haste. “You still wanna do this?” 

“Wow,” Zayn was too busy marveling at Harry’s body, “You certainly ate your chicken breasts.” 

“Baby, lift your hips for me?” Harry marveled at Zayn’s waist, gripping it hard between his hands as Zayn lifted his pelvis off the bed to let him slide a pillow. “Fuck, you’re so tiny, I can’t take it.” 

“I’m not tiny,” Zayn whined and grabbed Harry’s wrist to pull him closer. “You’re just abnormally sized.” 

Harry laughed, then nuzzled their noses together, confident that they were going to have a  _ great _ night. “I dunno whether to be offended or not,” 

“I don’t wanna be touched here,” It was Zayn saying this that made Harry realize that he was gently stroking Zayn’s cock, stealing distracting kisses in between every soft moan. “Touch me lower, please.” 

“I think I have condoms,” Harry murmured sweetly, “But if I don’t, I’m not gonna. Okay?” 

Zayn made a noise, but nodded anyways as he obediently let Harry manhandle him to and fro, almost inspecting every curve of his torso and yelped when he bent down to lick a stripe up his dick. “Hazza, please.” 

“Can I eat you out, baby?” Harry asked, chasing Zayn as he crawled away to check Harry’s bedside table for any protection. “I just wanna fucking get my mouth on you, like, everywhere.” 

“Alrighty,” Zayn patted his shoulders, squirming a little until Harry had him on his side and legs parted. “Jesus.” 

“If you don’t want me to, I’ll stop,” Harry panted, intertwining their fingers. “Remember that one time I asked you how you’d feel about me doing this and you fucking screamed into my ear?” 

“It was a jarring illustration you forced me to picture,” Zayn rested an arm over his face. Harry’s breath was so hot, and any moment now he was going to— 

Oh, fuck. 

“Fuck,” Zayn said out loud, unable to take Harry’s soft murmurs in between each lick and obscene slurping noise. It felt warm and almost incapacitating, as though Harry had him and wasn’t ever going to let go. “Hazza, mmmnn,”

“You okay?” Harry asked, rubbing soft and warm circles around his hips. “Feel good?” 

“Yeah, I feel good,” Zayn whimpered, clenching the bedsheets beside him, because it was either that or rip Harry’s hair out. 

On the other end, Harry loved this, loved hearing Zayn’s voice crawl four octaves higher every time his tongue went just a little bit deeper, the way his head tilted to one side with a face contorted in what could only be ecstasy, and his hair fluffing up against the pillow. “Zaynie, babe?” 

“Yeah?” It sounded so small and innocent, and it made Harry’s cock twitch a bit too noticeably for his own liking. “You stopping, Hazza?” 

“How am I gonna fit inside here, babe?” Harry cooed, gently circling Zayn’s hole with his fingers. “Never seen you so relaxed.” 

“You’ll fit,” Zayn grunted as he yanked Harry up for a sloppy and hungry kiss. “C’mon.” 

“I love you so much, baby.” 

“Prove it,” Zayn whined as he opened his legs and pulled Harry in with the heels of his feet, biting his lips shyly. “Love you.” 

There was no hesitation when Harry said it back, “I love you too.” 

Somehow, that made it worse, “God, Hazza,” Tears slipped out of Zayn’s eyes and they both immediately stopped, the sound of his soft cries too much for Harry to bear. “I missed you so goddamn much.”

“Don’t I know it,” Harry’s face was wet when he smashed their lips together, that’s how Zayn knew he was crying as well. “I’m sorry, sunshine.” 

Zayn hiccupped, “I’m not sunshine.”

“Then why is it I’ve always felt warm when you were around?” Harry pulled them in just as his knowing hands reached for the lube, slicking his fingers up as Zayn silently watched. “Burning, actually, like I’ve been sleeping on the beach.” 

“You’re just,” Zayn gasped when one of Harry’s fingers entered him, “Oh, I don’t know.” 

“I promise you, baby, I’m never making you cry again.” 

  
  



End file.
